By George Matthew Adams

First, it's very individual, this Me of mine. It eats, it walks, it plays, it works, and it sleeps. Also it plans and thinks and dreams and loves.

This Me of mine gets lonely, too, even in the midst of work. It looks around itself and marvels at time and space and things. And grows into a warm ecstatic mood at the feel of life and all its tasks.

I like this Me of mine, because it is understandable. Good and bad both — but honestly abreast, for true things are passing by at every hour of every day.

I talk to this Me of mine. And it talks to me. And the world of action all around stirs the blood in this Me of mine. For it is wakeful and alert.

I run errands for this Me of mine. I risk, I work, I sorrow, I sympathize with this Me of mine.

This inside one, this outside one, this everywhere one — this Me of mine — it's all that I may keep and call my own. But I shall stick, with loyal pride, and gladly strive to better make, to stronger wield - the brain, the heart, and the soul of this Me of mine.

So that to serve may prove the end of all that there is to this Me of mine.

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