Beautiful faces are those that wear-
It matters little if dark or fair- Whole-souled honesty printed there. Beautiful eyes are those that show, Like crystal panes where hearthfires glow, Beautiful thoughts that burn below. Beautiful lips are those whose words Leap from the heart like songs of birds, Yet whose utterance prudence girds. Beautiful hands are those that do Work that is honest and brave and true, Moment by moment the long day through. Beautiful feet are those that go On kindly ministries to and fro, Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so. Beautiful shoulders are those that bear Ceaseless burdens of homely care With patient grace and daily prayer. Beautiful lives are those that bless Silent rivers of happiness, Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. Beautiful twilight at set of sun, Beautiful goal with race well won, Beautiful rest with work well done. Beautiful graves where grasses creep, Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep Over worn-out hands-oh! beautiful sleep! -Ellen P. Allerton
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Give us Men!
Men-from every rank, Fresh and free and frank; Men of thought and reading, Men of light and leading, Men of loyal breeding, The nation's welfare speeding; Men of faith and not of fiction, Men of lofty aim in action; Give us Men-I say again, Give us Men! Give us Men! Strong and stalwart ones; Men whom highest hope inspires, Men whom purest honor fires, Men who trample self beneath them, Men who make their country wreathe them As her noble sons, Worthy of their sires; Men who never shame their mothers, Men who never fail their brothers, True, however false are others: Give us Men-I say again, Give us Men! Give us Men! Men who, when the tempest gathers, Grasp the standard of their fathers In the thickest fight; Men who strike for home and altar, (Let the coward cringe and falter), God defend the right! True as truth the lorn and lonely, Tender, as the brave are only; Men who tread where saints have trod, Men for Country, Home-and God: Give us Men! I say again-again- Give us Men! -Josiah Gilbert Holland I fight a battle every day
Against discouragement and fear; Some foe stands always in my way, The path ahead is never clear! I must forever be on guard Against the doubts that skulk along; I get ahead by fighting hard, But fighting keeps my spirit strong. I hear the croakings of Despair, The dark predictions of the weak; I find myself pursued by Care, No matter what the end I seek; My victories are small and few, It matters not how hard I strive; Each day the fight begins anew, But fighting keeps my hopes alive. My dreams are spoiled by circumstance, My plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck; Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance, But that great hour has never struck; My progress has been slow and hard, I've had to climb and crawl and swim, Fighting for every stubborn yard; But I have kept in fighting trim. I have to fight my doubts away And be on guard against my fears; The feeble croaking of Dismay Has been familiar through the years; My dearest plans keep going wrong, Events combine to thwart my will; But fighting keeps my spirit strong, And I am undefeated still! -S. E. Kiser If you your lips would keep from slips,
Five things observe with care: Of whom you speak, to whom you speak, And how and when and where. If you your ears would save from jeers, These things keep meekly hid: Myself and I, and mine and my, And how I do and did. -Unknown A wise old owl lived in an oak;
The more he saw the less he spoke; The less he spoke the more he heard: Why can't we all be like that bird? -Edward Hersey Richards Man's life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see, While the weavers work and the shuttles fly Till the dawn of eternity. Some shuttles are filled with silver threads And some with threads of gold, While often but the darker hues Are all that they may hold. But the weaver watches with skillful eye Each shuttle fly to and fro, And sees the pattern so deftly wrought As the loom moves sure and slow. God surely planned the pattern: Each thread, the dark and fair, Is chosen by His master skill And placed in the web with care. He only knows its beauty, And guides the shuttles which hold The threads so unattractive, As well as the threads of gold. Not till each loom is silent, And the shuttles cease to fly, Shall God reveal the pattern And explain the reason why The dark threads were as needful In the weaver's skillful hand As the threads of gold and silver For the pattern which He planned. -Unknown Through this toilsome world, alas!
Once and only once I pass; If a kindness I may show, If a good deed I may do To a suffering fellow man, Let me do it while I can. No delay, for it is plain I shall not pass this way again. -Unknown Out of the light that dazzles me,
Bright as the sun from pole to pole, I thank the God I know to be For Christ the conqueror of my soul. Since His the sway of circumstance, I would not wince not cry aloud. Under that rule which men call chance My head with joy is humbly bowed. Beyond this place of sin and tears That life with Him! And His the aid, Despite the menace of the years, Keeps, and shall keep me, unafraid. I have no fear, though strait the gate, He cleared from punishment the scroll. Christ is the Master of my fate, Christ is the Captain of my soul. -Dorothea Day Work, work, my boy, be not afraid;
Look labor boldly in the face; Take up the hammer or the spade, And blush not for your humble place. There's glory in the shuttle's song; There's triumph in the anvil's stroke; There's merit in the brave and strong Who dig the mine or fell the oak. The wind disturbs the sleeping lake, And bids it ripple pure and fresh; It moves the green boughs till they make Grand music in their leafy mesh. And so the active breath of life Should stir our dull and sluggard wills; For are we not created rife With health, that stagnant torpor kills? I doubt if he who lolls his head Where idleness and plenty meet, Enjoy his pillow or his bread As those who earn the meals they eat. And man is never half so blest As when the busy day is spent So as to make his evening rest A holiday of glad content. -Eliza Cook (1817-1889) McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Gumeye Ball
There's an eyeball in the gumball machine, Right there between the red and the green, Lookin' at me as if to say, "You don't need any more gum today." The Nailbiter Some people manicure their nails, Some people trim them neatly, Some people keep them filed down, I bite 'em off completely. Yes, it's a nasty habit, but Before you start to scold, Remember, I have never ever Scratched a single soul. How Not To Have To Dry The Dishes If you have to dry the dishes (Such an awful, boring chore) If you have to dry the dishes ('Stead of going to the store) If you have to dry the dishes And you drop one on the floor- Maybe they won't let you Dry the dishes anymore. -Shel Silverstein A Light In The Attic |
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