The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play; Among the lowing herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing birds, The humming of the bees. The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover-scented grass, Among the husking of the corn, Where the drowsy poppies nod, Where ill thoughts die and good are born, Out in the fields with God. -Louise Imogen Guiney
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To touch the cup with eager lips and taste, not drain it;
To woo and tempt and court a bliss-and not attain it; To fondle and caress a joy, yet hold it lightly, Lest it become necessity and cling too tightly; To watch the sun set in the west without regretting; To hail its advent in the east-the night forgetting; To smother care in happiness and grief in laughter; To hold the present close-not questioning hereafter; To have enough to share-to know the joy of giving; To thrill with all the sweets of life-is living. -Unknown When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you must-but don't you quit. Life is queer with its twists and turns, As everyone of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don't give up, though the pace seems slow- You might succeed with another blow. Often the goal is nearer than It seems to a faint and faltering man, Often the struggler has given up When he might have captured the victor's cup. And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown. Success is failure turned inside out- The silver tint of the clouds of doubt- And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar; So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit- It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit. -Unknown 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 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 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 Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couln't be done, and he did it. Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that; At least no one ever has done it"; But he took off his coat and he took off his hat, And the first thing we knew he'd begun to it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure; There are thousands to point out to you, one be one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start to sing as you tackle the thing That "cannot be done," and you'll do it. -Edgar A. Guest |
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