--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Malone, Walter collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 10 number: 9 published: 1907-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Walter Malone, "Opportunity," *Improvement Era* 10, no. 9 (July 1907): 672.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1009unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1009unse start_page: 672 end_page: 672 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1907-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1009unse publication_year: 1907 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1907, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Opportunity OPPORTUNITY. [The Era is indebted to Elder Orson F. Whitney for the selection of this poem, which he considers much better than the one on the same subject in the April number. We believe he is correct. Editors.] They do me wrong that say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door, And bid you wake and rise to fight and win. Wail not for precious chances passed away, Weep not for golden ages on the wane. Each night I burn the record of the day; At sunrise every soul is born again. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments sea the dead past with its dead, ^ But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend my arm to all who say ' 'I can, ' No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep. But yet might rise and be again a man. Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past. And find the future's pages white as snow. Walter Malone