There's a craze among us mortals that is cruel hard to name;
Wheresoe'er you find a human you will find the case the same;
You may seek among the worst of men or seek among the best,
And you'll find that every person is precisely like the rest:
Each believes his real calling is along some other line
Than the one at which he's working--take, for instance, yours and mine.
From the meanest "me-too" creature to the leader of the mob,
There's a universal craving for "the other fellow's job."
There are millions of positions in the busy world to-day,
Each a drudge to him who holds it, but to him who doesn't, play;
Every farmer's broken-hearted that in youth he missed his call,
While that same unhappy farmer is the envy of us all.
Any task you care to mention seems a vastly better lot
Than the one especial something which you happen to have got.
There's but one sure way to smother Envy's heartache and her sob:
Keep too busy at your own to want "the other fellow's job."
--Strickland W. Gilliland.