'There isn't any business,' wailed the sad and gloomy man;
'I haven't made a dollar since the armistice began.'
But I couldn't help reflecting, as I heard his story through,
That the hopeful, cheerful hustler seems to have a lot to do.
I've been in business places where the air was thick with gloom
And the men were sad and solemn like the mourners at a tomb,
And there wasn't any business or an order coming in,
And, what's more, there never will be till those fellows start to grin.
'There isn't any business'—aren't you weary of the cry?
Men have caught the gloomy habit, and they sit around and sigh;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem